You Never Asked for This
by CathQueen
Summary: This story was triggered by the Catherine/Leeza storyline presented to us in the first four episodes of s4 and something I read about the real Catherine de Medici a while ago. Written upon request for demedicigirl. Cathry included. But beware - this isn't a fun ride! But it has baby Francis... just saying.


**You Never Asked for This**

Silence enveloped her as she sat in the darkness of her chambers. Her hair let down, her face unmade, the Queen Mother sat in her favorite chair, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to keep her warm, book in hand, still unread, a glass of wine resting on the little side table, almost empty like the bottle standing right next to it. Surely everyone had retired already and gone to bed. They usually had at this hour. The castle halls were deserted, the perfect time for a stroll or a kill. Now that was a secret she had entrusted Claude with only recently, out of necessity. If given the time, she would have tried to spare her daughter that lesson in self-preservation but with Spain breathing down their necks, had there really been an alternative? A DeGuise sniffing around for evidence about his father's demise, paired with a promise from Europe's most potent nation to marry into the French royal family. No matter how great the risk of scarring another member of her hypersensitive Valois offspring, Catherine had had to take it. And lucky for her, Claude had been shocked but wasn't holding it against her.

"Mother is always on your side," she had promised third-in-line and meant it. But had it always been like that between them? Catherine shook her head. Definitely not. Although it was true what she had once told her in a moment of weakness, that by protecting her so fiercely from a crime Catherine now knew her daughter had never committed, she had cared more about Claude than any of her other children, Francis included. But maybe that wasn't fair, comparing any of her other children to Francis, her golden boy. The son she had awaited for ten years until he had finally arrived, not out of love but out of diligence and luck, but what had she cared at the time. He had been her joy, her hope, her future and not the first child who had left her all too soon. But somehow with Francis, everything had always been different, even losing him had broken her more than the death of Louis or her twins. Perhaps because she had seen him grow into an adult, because she had nurtured him despite the ridicule and pressure, and had seen his heart grow fonder the more his father had rejected him in favor of his bastard brother.

Catherine closed her eyes just for a moment and there it was again, his face.

Why was it that every time she took too much liberty with her intake of wine, it was Henry who entered her mind? Hadn't he haunted her enough when he had still been alive? Why couldn't she just let him go? She sighed. "Why do I still love you although you never loved me enough in return?"

Of course there was no answer, but Catherine laughed. Just like Henry when he was alive: unresponsive, absent. Never a father really to their children... "And look how well they have turned out!"

Gulping down the rest of her wine, the Queen Mother refused to allow herself to cry. Her frustration with Charles was bad enough, Claude's grief over the loss of her first true love unbearable for her to watch and then there was Leeza, her second child. Not a son as desired by a king, but a girl, and an unwanted one at that.

"You were so dreary and dull that once you were gone, we never even spoke of you." Claude's words echoed in Catherine's mind. How shocked she had been to see her daughters fight like that over her and the lack of affection they had both been shown as children. But clearly Leeza had been the first one to endure it, she was the first of two daughters, after all, who had followed the birth of a future king.

"But that's not why I didn't want you," Catherine whispered to herself, the wine taking its toll now on her emotions usually so controlled and held at bay. "It's not your fault, it never was." A tear forced itself down her cheek, forcing the Queen Mother to close her eyes. But it was of no use, she could not escape them, those memories she had pushed so far away for a while along with her daughter. An arranged marriage for the sake of France, she had told her then. "You will be a Queen." And that hadn't even been a lie.

"There's a price to be paid," Leeza's voice sounded in her ears.

"But you are not the one who should've paid it," Catherine responded in her mind. "Nor I, and yet we both have. How can I ever let you know why?"

* * *

Summer of 1544

Catherine de Medici stood by the window in her chambers, holding her infant son in her arms to enjoy the warm breeze of a beautiful summer's night. "Do you feel that, Francis," the Dauphine whispered. "Few nights bring you such warmth without the heat. It's a rare treat, we should enjoy it while it lasts."

Gurgling at the smile that spread across his mother's face, the little prince met her joy with his own. Reaching for the silky collar of her dressing gown, his tiny hands made clear what he cared for more.

"Are you hungry again," Catherine laughed and carefully dropped into the chair standing by his crib not far from her bed. "Well, all right, my prince. But then you let your Mamma sleep."

Standing in the doorway, the King of France watched his daughter-in-law arranging her wardrobe to feed her son, her face a mask of pure delight.

"She's getting too attached to that little boy," the King addressed the Dauphin luring two feet behind him in the dark. "Anne tells me she's been nursing him all those months? You cannot allow that, Henry. Also, his crib in her chambers?" He shook his head, although his heart warmed at the sight of his grandson receiving so much motherly love. "You know how much I love my little Dauphine," the King whispered, "but it's been ten years. She cannot give you an heir and then take her time looking after him. That's why we have wet nurses. Her job is to give you another son and fast. See to that. Get it done."

"But I haven't been with her since she announced her pregnancy to me," Henry protested.  
"And that's good. But your son was born in January, it's July now. She'll be fine."

"She's not even asked to see me once," the Dauphin returned without much enthusiasm.

"Because she's been preoccupied with your son. Enough of that now. It may not be long and you'll be King. And what then? Do you really think one heir will be enough to secure your reign? Remind her where her duties lie. I know she understands it, that little offspring of yours has just clouded her mind."

"But she's so different since he has arrived," Henry tried to reason with his father. "So full of joy."

"Give her more children and she'll realize they are not a joy but a necessity," King Francis grew impatient with his son. "She'll be the Queen of France and a queen's place is not in a nursery. And a Dauphin's place is not in the shadows, looking for ways to avoid his wife." Grabbing him by his collar, the King didn't mind getting rough. "What is it with you? The girl has charm and wits, good taste even for an Italian, so what more do you want? Your first child and she's given you an heir, not a princess. So pull yourself together and have another while she's still young enough to produce them by the dozens."

Letting go off his collar, the father hit his son on the back of his head, then pushed him towards his wife and nodded at his mistress standing in a safe distance. "I asked Anne to take the boy away from her tonight. You can tell her softly or just let it happen without a warning. It's your choice. It really depends on how much you love your wife, I suppose." The King smiled dryly. "But we both know the answer to that question, don't we?"

As the King of France finally left, the Dauphine raised her head at the sound of footsteps leaving, then suddenly approaching her. "Henry," she blushed, her eyes warm, her smile almost enchanted. "Have you come to see your son?"

"I came to tell you a decision has been made," the Dauphin answered flatly, his eyes avoiding hers while registering her apprehension.

"A decision," the young wife asked her husband. "About what?"

"Francis," Henry said, trying to sound cold but his eyes gave him away: delivering this message wasn't easy for him. "It has been decided that our son be removed from your care as of tonight."

Starting up from her chair, her son safely tucked away in her arms, Catherine stood before him with a fierceness Henry had never seen in anybody before. "Why," she demanded to know, her voice quivering just the slightest bit while her face was cold as stone.

"It misbecomes the future Queen of France to look after her children like a common peasant," Henry met her gaze with growing anger. How dare she question him like that?!

"One child we have, my Lord. A son you have barely looked at since I gave birth to him," Catherine tried to appeal to him. "He's such a beautiful boy with a heart as golden as his locks of hair."

"Enough of this," the Dauphin shouted, causing young Francis to cry and startling Catherine to her core. "Take him away," he ordered his father's mistress to hurry. "The Dauphine is forgetting herself."

"Henry, please," Catherine pleaded while trying her best to stay calm for the sake of her frightened little son. "What have I done to deserve such punishment?"

"Don't look at her," Henry barked at a helpless Anne. "Don't let her fill your heart with false compassion." His heart aching for his wife but also growing harder for the love he saw her so shamelessly displaying for their son, the Dauphin observed how Catherine tried to hold on to her babe as long as she could. "Stop degrading yourself like that," Henry shouted calmly. "It's embarrassing."

"I'll take good care of him," Anne was quick to whisper to the Dauphine who nodded gratefully through her tears.

"Now compose yourself, wife," Henry finally ordered, causing Catherine to look at him with so much disdain that he grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she screamed. "And get yourself decent," he said through gritted teeth, his anger grown for reasons still unfathomable to him. "You have let yourself go there, nursing our son, exposing your bosom to him like that."

Glaring at him in sudden fear, Catherine tried to cover herself up but it was too late. The grip of his fingers around her wrist had become possessive, his mouth now only inches way from hers.

"You know," Henry whispered, his free hand already removing more of her dressing gown without her consent. "My father urged me to get back into the business of making heirs. I thought it was still too soon, that there was a reason why you hadn't come to me to claim me as your husband again. But I can see now why he thought it would be a good idea."

"Get off of me." Catherine tried to fight him off, her body tense. "You need more heirs, I agree with your father on that, but not now. Not like this."

"Not like this?" Henry laughed. "Because now that you have born me a son you think you get a say?"

"I will always have a say when and with whom I will engage in carnal relations," Catherine stood her ground, freeing her wrist at last. "And here and now is not the time." And with that, she ducked away under his arm and crossed the room until she was pulled back with a force that sent her half flying through the air.

"I admit it may be my fault, but we haven't spent as much time together in the last ten years as we probably should have as husband and wife, so you might not know this: I don't take no for an answer."

"You do," Catherine glared at him with anger dancing in her eyes, covering her alert. "You take no's from your father all the time." She hadn't meant for it to sound so condescending, but now it was too late.

"Then let me specify," the Dauphin looked at her with naked rage. "My father will be gone soon, his health is failing and I'll be King. And kings don't take no's from anyone, especially not from mistresses or wives."

"Let go off me," Catherine tried to fight him off again, her Medici mind scanning her room for any possible weapons or escape routes. "Henry, please!"

But the Dauphin of France pulled her towards the bed and rid her off her dressing gown without much further ado. "You can have this the easy or the hard way, Catherine," he offered, then cried out as her fingers dug into his flesh to defend herself. "The hard way it is then," he growled and had his way with her until she lay motionless below him, her eyes empty, her face pale and nothing but a tiny whimper in response when he finally dismounted her.

When confirmation came that she was with child, the Dauphine of France didn't have it in her to smile. When her daughter was finally born, her indifference towards her was met with surprise but also respect in court. Had the Italian duchess learned, after all, that it wasn't her job to love her children, especially girls? Or were the rumors true that the girl was too dull to be adored, especially by a mother who immersed herself more and more in the arts and festivities at court?

* * *

"It was never your fault, my child," the Queen Mother finished the last drop of her wine, unable to cry. "But tell me, would you ever really want to know why it was mine?"


End file.
